Heartstrings
by GLEE-Anna
Summary: The Andersons and Hummels meet at Parents' Day ... Klaine from Burt's p.o.v.


The shirt and tie felt tight around Burt's neck, unfamiliar and confining, and yet somehow at the same time he felt absurdly naked without his customary baseball cap. But Kurt had been specific, and his father was anxious to comply with what was required of him; and that, apparently, was putting on his one good suit and showing up here with his wife and stepson for Parents Day at Dalton Academy.

They had dutifully sat through an address from the dean of students, watched a performance by the Warblers, and had a tour of the facility. Kurt had been bursting with enthusiasm, showing his family the elegantly appointed common room, the tapestry-hung hallways, his classrooms and dorm. Burt had met dozens of clean-cut preppy boys in uniform, all with broad smiles and Abercrombie and Fitch looks - - there didn't seem to be an ugly or fat one anywhere on the premises for some mysterious reason - - and Kurt introduced him to so many of them that he couldn't hope to keep all their names straight in his head. He met all of Kurt's teachers and had been stunned into quiet at the level of the work his son was handling, sitting quietly in the desks and listening to them talk and glancing over the samples of Kurt's papers and tests, growing more and more proud and impressed as the day went on.

"You're doing great here," he said softly to his son, enjoying the beam of happiness on his son's face. "I'm really glad." Yes, seeing Kurt in this element, seeing him safe, seeing him challenged in a good way, was worth all the sacrifice it would take to keep him here, and missing having him around the house. "I haven't seen that friend of yours that you brought home for the football game," Burt said curiously.

"Speak of the devil," Finn said, spotting Blaine Anderson down the hall talking with what must be his parents. A tall, WASP-ish man, blonde and patrician and elegant in what looked like a custom-made suit stood on one side of Blaine and a slender, beautiful dark-haired woman with olive skin stood on the other. The tiny woman reached up to smooth Blaine's hair with a soft smile and Burt saw Kurt's eyes flicker with a little jealousy at the motherly gesture, but only for a second before he smiled brightly at Carole and Burt again.

"Kurt, wait up," Blaine called. "I want you to meet my mom and dad."

The Andersons walked over, Blaine and his father walking with an identical, easy grace, the same carriage and gait, and Blaine politely introduced them to the Hummels and Finn.

"Good to meet you, finally, Kurt," Mr. Anderson said, extending his hand for a warm, firm handshake, his free hand patting the top of Kurt's. "Blaine speaks very highly of you." His keen eyes scanned Kurt sharply before releasing the boy's slender hand and extending his hand to Burt. "Good to meet you Burt," he nodded.

"You too, Clark," Burt mumbled.

"Why don't we sit together for dinner?" Mrs. Anderson suggested, slipping an arm through Blaine's. "It'll give us a chance to get acquainted. I'm Maria, by the way."

"I'm Carole, Kurt's stepmother. And I think that's a great idea," Carole agreed, smiling at Mrs. Anderson. Burt scowled slightly at Carole behind the other couple, whispering, "I was hoping to spend time with just us and Kurt, take him out somewhere. Not meet the future in-laws … I'm not prepared for –"

"Don't be ridiculous, Burt," Carole whispered out of the side of her mouth. "Blaine is Kurt's best friend, that's all, and it's no different from meeting any friend's parents."

"Not if the way Kurt looks at him is any judge," Burt mumbled uncomfortably, glancing over at a plainly smitten Kurt, and wincing when Blaine pulled out a chair for Kurt with the same flourish Mr. Anderson did for his wife. No, he wasn't ready for this Mr. Smooth to be involved with his son, not at all.

"Mr. Anderson, Blaine hasn't mentioned what you do for a living," Carole said pleasantly as the entrees were served. He smiled at her gallantly over the rim of his third gin and tonic and answered, "I'm a diplomat," and Burt thought _it figures._

"So, what do you do, Burt?" Mr. Anderson asked, his bright gaze fixed on him.

Burt swallowed the mouthful of dry chicken, and answered, "I have an auto shop."

"That's a great business. Kurt, you must've learned a lot from your old man, eh?" When Kurt nodded shyly, looking fondly at his dad, Mr. Anderson said without looking at his own son, "Maybe you should let Kurt show you a thing or two, Blaine. Keep you from dropping the transmission out of another Jag, like you did the first one I got you."

"That was a year and a half ago, and Blaine paid for the repairs," Mrs. Anderson said faintly, as Blaine sat silently, his eyes fixed blankly on his plate.

"Sit up, Blaine, you're slumping," Mr. Anderson said, taking the last swallow out of his gin and tonic and catching the eye of a passing waiter, who nodded and retrieved the glass, hurrying to bring another. Burt watched Blaine sit up even straighter than he already had been, imitating his father's posture … neither of their backs even touching their chairs. Burt hadn't seen Blaine too many times, but had thought he seemed casually dapper and refined in manners, comfortable in his own skin, but today he looked distinctly uncomfortable and his conversation seemed awkward, stilted, with the boy's eyes shifting constantly to his father's face uncertainly.

Mr. Anderson flipped open the folder with his son's name on it, similar to the one Burt had received for Kurt, and started rifling through it as the server set another gin and tonic on the table.

"Clark, that can wait until after we finish dinner, can't it?" Mrs. Anderson murmured, but her husband didn't seem to hear her.

Looking up, he fixed a stern glare at Blaine. "There's no mention of debate team on your list of fees and dues, Blaine," he said, holding up a sheet of paper with what looked like several dozen clubs and teams and other entries on it. "You _are_ on debate team, aren't you? Your coach said you were on track to being a captain by senior year, so …?"

Burt saw Blaine swallow hard, and haltingly explain, "The meetings conflicted with Warbler practice … I couldn't do both …"

"So you picked the Warblers instead of debate? What were you thinking, Blaine? You have more than enough music activities already," his father said, his voice level but biting and cold. "Violin, piano, guitar lessons … orchestra and band … you needed debate team for your college applications, you know," he said, his voice still calm.

"I … I signed up for the model U.N. and poly sci club … and lacrosse and rugby," Blaine stammered. "I thought that would be enough - - and I'm running for class president…"

"He's a shoo-in, too, I'm managing his campaign," Kurt piped up helpfully, and Burt hid a proud smile at his son for his interference, and then frowned at the slightly withering glance Mr. Anderson shot Kurt's way before focusing in on Blaine again.

"If you expect to do well at Yale in Political Science, Blaine, you can't just depend on being a legacy and having good grades and "okay" extracurriculars. And you have enough of an _impediment_ to a career in politics by reason of your … _orientation_ … you need to work twice as hard as everybody else to compensate. You know that, I've told you a thousand times. And here you throw away the most important club membership to waste time singing and dancing around. I'm very disappointed in you."

Burt's mouth dropped open in shock, before he flushed with resentment and opened his mouth to give this pompous windbag a good old fashioned Burt-down speech about tolerance and acceptance of your son as he is and not how you imagined or expected him to be ... but Kurt put a hand over his lips and shook his head at his father, and Burt swallowed his words, and Burt was relieved when finally Blaine's mother stepped up to the plate instead.

"Music is just as important as debate club," Maria Anderson cut in, her voice edgy. "In fact, I'm so glad you're still taking violin, Blaine, you've always loved it … and it's been too long since I've heard you play. Dinner's nearly done … would you be willing to get your violin and play me something?"

"Only if you sing along," Blaine said, and Burt bit his lip at the grateful look on the boy's face as he spoke to his mother.

"Run and get your violin and we'll meet you in your dorm's common room. I've heard such lovely things about your voice, Kurt," Mrs. Anderson said, "I'd love to hear you both sing if you'd like to join us for a bit … unless you had other plans."

"That sounds great, ma'am," Kurt said before Burt could object that he hadn't had enough time with Kurt, and soon they were getting up and retiring to the common room. Burt nudged Kurt, "Hey kiddo … you got a can in this fancy place?"

"Sure, Dad, c'mon upstairs with me, I'll show you."

Burt zipped up and washed his hands in the sink and then wandered out into the dormitory hall, looking for his son's room. He tapped on it but it was empty, and he heard the sound of a violin being tuned down the hall. Heading in the direction of the plucking strings, he paused when he saw that the door to what was apparently Blaine's room was open, and Blaine and Kurt were visible in the mirror, and the tuning had stopped. Kurt had a hand on each of Blaine's shoulders and was peering into the other boy's crumpling face worriedly, and suddenly, Blaine's arms were around Kurt's neck, his face down on Kurt's shoulder, the bow askew in one hand and the violin dangling from the other.

"He's ... not that bad," Blaine was saying shakily, "he just wants me to do the best I can ... I just have to try harder, it's my fault."

"But you don't care about politics, and he should listen to what _you _ want for your life ... you shouldn't have to prove anything to your dad."

"I've let him down, already, a lot by being gay - and I can't change that ... I owe it to him to try to be what he wants about the things I can help," Blaine said, so faintly that Burt could barely hear it. Kurt hugged him tighter and Burt stood awkwardly, not knowing whether he should go hide in the bathroom or interrupt this painful moment, when Blaine pulled away, his expression carefully composed and the familiar brilliant smile painted on again.

"Sorry about that … long day," the dark-haired boy was saying too jovially as he turned and hurried out. "C'mon, everybody's waiting. Hi, Mr. Hummel," he mumbled before half-jogging down the stairs toward the common room.

Burt waited for Kurt to come out and sail into him for eavesdropping … and was surprised when Kurt put an arm through his and half-hugged him. "Thanks, Dad."

"For what?"

"Just thanks," the boy said airily before pulling him toward the stairs with a gentle tug.


End file.
